Standing In His Shoes
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Martha, who never did grow into her Who nose, learns firsthand what it's like to be mocked for being different.


Standing In His Shoes

By Laura Schiller

Based on: How the Grinch Stole Christmas (directed by Ron Howard)

"Is my hair okay?" asked Betty Lou, turning this way and that in front of the mirror to survey her beehive hairdo. She had lollipops and candy canes stuck through it as usual, to snack on during class breaks.

"You look very nice, Bets," said Martha May, retouching her lipgloss in the mirror next to her classmate. "It really, um, emphasizes your profile."

"Aw, thanks!" Betty smiled at her reflection in the rosy lighting of the Whoville High girls' bathroom and patted her pointy Who nose with a white-gloved hand. "At least I _have_ a profile, you know? I'd hate to walk around with a flat nose on top of everything else."

She shot a glance at Martha, who tried her hardest not to wince at the subject. Her own nose, even at fifteen, was taking its sweet time to come to a proper point. Betty clapped a hand over her mouth and made her eyes round with false contrition.

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry," she chirped. "I didn't mean _you._"

She certainly did. Betty Lou Carew was plain, stocky, and none too intelligent; the way their so-called 'friendship' had always worked was that Betty got to share Martha's limelight, and in return Martha got to feel envied. It just figured that the moment Martha began to show a visible defect, such as a flat nose, Betty would pounce on it like a hungry snowbeast.

If the two of them had been alone, Martha might have won the fight after all. However, at that moment two of the bathroom stalls opened. Noelle Whobertson and Annie Lee Whobris – Martha's main rival for this year's Miss Snowflake pageant and her faithful sidekick – had been listening to the whole exchange. Noelle was a tall dark girl who wore her hair in a cascade of red and white beaded cornrows; her blue uniform skirt was barely long enough to meet the dress code. Her nose came to an elegant point at least two inches from her face. Annie was a nondescript brunette whose mission in life seemed to be agreeing with everything Noelle said.

"Save it, Betty Lou," said Noelle, with a languid wave of her hand. "We all know what you meant. We've all been wondering anyway – what _did_ happen to your nose, Martha? Did you land face down in your baby basket, or what?"

Annie Lee dutifully burst into giggles, and so did Betty Lou.

"Did your mommy drop you when you were little?"

"Did you bump it on the ceiling carrying your head so high?"

"I know!" That was Betty Lou, her beady eyes gleaming with triumph. "She grew it that way so she couldn't smell the _Grinch_!"

For a moment, the use of that tabooed word stunned all four of them – especially Martha. She had read a newspaper only that morning, recounting another sighting of that masked figure in a brown cloak with green hands. The uncertainty had been keeping her up at night: Was it really him? Was he all right? She had never dared to voice her concerns to anyone, even her alleged friends – and with good reason, apparently, if they were going to act like _this_.

Noelle recovered first. "That's right," she said, with a shrill laugh to dispel her nervousness. "_I_ heard he's living in a cave by the Dump It on Crumpit, eating broken glass and banana peels."

"Eww!" squealed the other two.

"You used to _like_ him, didn't you, Martha May? You sat next to him for all of third grade, no wonder your nose got flat. Any normal Who would have passed out from the stink!"

Martha found herself shaking with fury. The boy she remembered had been as clean as any of his classmates; except for that slightly scorched residue after he'd been using his blowtorch, or a whiff of engine oil from the motorized tricycle he'd built in first grade. She remembered it perfectly.

"You have no right to talk about him like that!" she burst out. "If he's living on garbage, it's _your_ fault – our fault – for driving him away. You don't understand, you – "

To her horror, her voice began to crack and wobble; her tears overflowed before she could stop them. Tears of rage and shame and sorrow, all at once.

"Aww, look!" they cooed, giggling harder. "Is poor widdle Baby Nose crying now? Don't she like to talk about her lover-boy?"

She was standing in his shoes now; she felt quite capable of screaming invectives and hurling a Christmas tree at Noelle, Betty and Annie. However, not being strong enough, she grabbed her bag from the sink, whirled and ran out of the bathroom.

She ran right into the arms of Augustus Maywho, student council president and her most determined suitor. Before she could back away, he caught her by the shoulders and peered down into her tear-streaked face with what appeared to be genuine concern.

"Martha? Baby, what's wrong?" he said. Catching sight of Noelle and the others, who had followed her into the hallway, he shot them his most formidable presidential glare over Martha's shoulder

"What have you been saying to upset my girl?" he demanded.

"I'm not your – " Her automatic protest was cut off by the realization that he was actually protecting her; the last thing she wanted was to sound ungrateful.

"It was just a joke," Betty Lou said sulkily.

"Yeah," said Noelle. "We were just kidding around and she, like, flipped."

"Doesn't look like that to me. I won't have any bullying in my class, got it? You try it again, Noelle, and I'll get Miss Rue to leave you out of the Snowflake pageant."

To their homeroom teacher, who had a terrible crush on Augustus' widowed father (or perhaps his bank account), her favorite student's word was law.

"You wouldn't!" exclaimed Noelle.

"Try me."

The three girls drooped like Christmas trees in late January. Augustus smiled, plucked a red lollipop out of Betty Lou's hair and handed it to Martha with a gallant little bow. Then he took her arm and led her down the opposite direction Noelle and the girls were taking. Martha looked down at the lollipop in its plastic wrapper; strawberry was her favorite flavor, but the last thing she felt like doing was eating it. She tucked it into her bag for later and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her face.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For standing up for me."

"You're welcome," said Augustus.

"But … why me?" _Why do I get a defense when the Grinch didn't? _

"Because you're cute," said Augustus, squeezing her arm, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I have a baby nose," she muttered, repeating Noelle's slur. "It's not _normal_ for a Who my age."

"Was that what they were teasing you about?" He scrutinized her as if she were a painting in progress, than tapped her objectionable nose with one finger. "Never mind, Martha. You know you can always get it fixed when you're older."

Martha got the message. Unlike green skin and an extra layer of hair, _her_ defect was reparable. He still saw her as girlfriend material in spite, or maybe _because_ of it; knowing her weak spot gave him power over her. He wouldn't keep defending her without expecting something in return.

She thought of the Grinch, that brilliant, misunderstood boy, prowling the streets in his brown cloak. Playing tricks on complacent Who citizens. Determined to live on his own terms, even among the garbage.

He had admired her once, she knew. He would have been shocked by the idea of her flat nose needing surgery. But that was before the day she failed him with her silence; he'd never know, or care, what she did with herself now.

"Say, Martha May … do you have a date for the Christmas Dance yet?"

"No … "

"May I have the pleasure, then?"

She laughed half-heartedly at the old-fashioned phrase, as expected, and gave him the expected answer.

"Yeah, okay."


End file.
